A Magic Beyond All We Do Here
by miss skinny love
Summary: Lily Luna is a Hufflepuff. She isn't good at spells. She isn't brave. She doesn't know ambition. She's named after two great women, and she's a Potter. (She's doomed before she even really starts.) But there's one thing she has — it's a magic beyond all other magic.


_A Magic Beyond All We Do Here_

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 _—_ a gift!fic for The Kawaii Neko (Shay)

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Lily Luna is given her first violin on her eighth birthday. She doesn't know anything about violins, other than they're beautiful. She puts her fingers all over the bow, and strokes the horsehair, and thrums the strings. She does everything wrong.

You never touch the bowstring, because the oils on fingers mess with the sound. She learns this. And now, near the frog, the horsehair is contaminated. Sound wobbles, there. But that's alright. She gauges the tension there.

But she learns. She learns that there should be a finger's width between the horsehair and the bow. A slight curve to the horsehair. She learns how to tighten the tuning pegs. She learns so much — that perfect sweet-spot that has her arm somehow loose but also strong. She learns how to make her fingers dance; how to bounce the bow; how to glide freely up and down the neck of the violin.

Lily Luna is named after two great women. And years after acquiring her first violin, she is great. She can play. She can ease out the sharp tang of E; she can expertly pull out a shuddering G. She is —

A violinist.

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When she's eleven, the Sorting Hat murmurs in her ears. It says, "My, but we know passion."

Lily is immediately angry. "Because I'm a redhead? Or a Potter?"

The Hat is duly surprised. "No, child. Because you love music."

The Hat's inane, and bored, and a bit cruel, because it tells her that she lacks Slytherin ambition, and the raw nerve of Gryffindor, and Ravenclaw's pursuit of knowledge. It shouts _Hufflepuff._

Lily's cheeks flush red. A useless Hufflepuff. A Potter. The latter is worse.

To be both a Potter and a Hufflepuff?

She's never known embarrassment like this.

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Students throw her pitying glances. So do her professors.

"Miss Potter," the Charms professor says, coming to stand before her desk, "a demonstration, if you would?"

She smiles tremulously. _"Wingardium Leviosa,"_ she says dutifully, swish and flicking her wand. The feather shudders and then stills. A rush of heat enters her cheeks.

Murmurs dance across the room. " — father defeated Voldemort and she can't even — "

She wishes she weren't a Potter.

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Over time, she's convinced that the Hat called out Hufflepuff because she isn't clever, she lacks ambition, and she's a coward. Hufflepuff is for the leftovers.

Her brothers don't speak to her all that often. She's just their little sister. They're popular and have lots of friends. She doesn't.

For a few months, she stops playing violin. She's fourteen and angry. Violin is played by those with the courage to create emotion; by those with the desire to learn such an instrument; by those who are ambitious enough to desire attention from their listeners.

She's a Hufflepuff. What does she know of pursuits of the mind or heart?

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"Lily," her mother says.

Lily's fourteen, and her face is scowling more often than she's smiling. "Yeah, Mum?" she says carelessly.

"Honey, why don't you play us a song after dinner?"

Lily shakes her head. "I haven't played for four months," she says.

Ginny Potter's head jerks up. She pulls her hand from the sink of bobbing potatoes. "Why not?" she asks incredulously. "You love violin." Her mother hesitates. "Or do you no longer enjoy it?"

Lily's cheeks burn with embarrassment. "I dunno," she says lamely.

Her mother's lips thin and she leans towards her daughter, taking those red cheeks into her palms. "Lily," she says softly, "speak to me."

"I just … I'm a Hufflepuff, and I'm named after Dad's mum and Aunt Luna … I just … "

Fierce understanding flashes through her mother's eyes. "Oh," she says, and hesitates.

Lily takes this as proof of what she's been afraid of, and jerks her face away. Stupid, useless 'Puff, she thinks.

"Honey, wait," her mother says.

Lily pauses. "What?" she asks mulishly.

"What did the Hat say to you?" Ginny asks, taking a seat at the kitchen table and gesturing for her daughter to do the same. Lily obliges.

"That I'm a coward, and stupid, and lacking ambition."

Ginny's eyebrow flies up. "I highly doubt that."

"That I have passion," Lily sighs, flicking hair over her shoulder. Passion? She's fourteen. She hasn't even snogged a boy (or a girl).

Her mum smiles. "Passion. What are the traits of Hufflepuff?" She catches the look in Lily's eyes and quickly adds, "And don't tell me uselessness."

Lily crosses her arms. "Hard-working. Friendly. Honest. Loyal."

Her mum nods decisively. "I know you have this image of violinists. They're beautiful, and intelligent, and they pour their souls into their music. People who listen are enthralled. Right?" her mum asks, sending her a wan smile. "But you have to understand that most people can play an instrument. They can pick it up and take lessons and learn how to fiddle up a tune. It doesn't mean they're great. There's a difference between good and great. It isn't always about the passage of time or experience. It's about loyalty to your instrument. It's about working hard to understand it. It's about playing honestly. You could play a song of death, Lily, my love, but I don't think it would sound right. You don't know of death — and I thank Merlin you don't. But you know of other struggles, don't you?" Her mother smiles, the wrinkles in the corner of her eyes crinkling further. She looks a little sad.

"Mum — "

Her mother holds up a hand. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry you have such a heavy name. Sometimes I wish I'd named you Sara. Simply Sara."

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That night, after dinner, Lily plays a song. A short little song about a boy who didn't know his name. He goes in search for it, but doesn't like what he finds.

Her father is surprised. Her mother proud. Her brothers quiet.

She is a Hufflepuff, yes. And she knows of work, and loyalty, and honesty. She isn't good at magic. Her spells usually fail.

She was named after two great women. But she is so much more. She _is_ a great woman. She's a violinist, and her fingers are rosin-stained. She thinks that they always will be.

(Music is a different kind of magic.)


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